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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28843476">Dreams And Nightmares</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnknownLeaf/pseuds/UnknownLeaf'>UnknownLeaf</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010), Dead by Daylight (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Touching, Not Beta Read, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sleep Deprivation, Torture</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:33:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,284</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28843476</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnknownLeaf/pseuds/UnknownLeaf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Quentin struggles with his mounting sleep deprivation as his peaceful dreams gradually shift toward nightmarish realities courtesy of the mysterious figure, with unfinished business, lurking within them.</p>
<p>Story depicts scenes during and following the events found in the film which will eventually bleed into the Dead By Daylight universe.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Freddy Krueger/Quentin Smith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Remember Me Not</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Please heed the warnings and tags before proceeding.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Quentin quickly discovered that upcoming assignments and exhaustion did not mix. While the former was his fault, his tardiness a result of his extra swimming practices, the latter was not. Lately he had been experiencing nightmares, rather vivid ones in fact, and all of which involved a strange man. Aside from his questionable fashion sense, namely the red striped sweater and battered fedora, the man was burned beyond recognition and wielded a menacing glove with knifes attached to it. Simply put, the guy was the definition of a nightmare.</p>
<p>When his nightmares first occurred, the mysterious male clung to the corners of his dreams, just within view but never fully appearing. Mere glimpses and wordless smirks gradually shifted toward full-on sightings and low cackles with every passing night. It was unsettling to think about, especially the spine-chilling, metallic singing of blades scissoring together. Thus, until he figured out why this was occurring, he was content to avoid sleeping for as long as possible.</p>
<p>Unleashing a soundless yawn, Quentin settled back into the work that was researching. Writing a history paper on medieval weapons was hardly stimulating, but the rapidly approaching deadline kept his fingers dancing across the keyboard. Besides, as mundane as it was, at least his concentration on the work temporarily warded off sleep.</p>
<p>The requirement for additional citations led him to surfing the internet for information. Unfortunately most sites which appeared in the search engine displayed similar content with only minor tweaks to their sentences. One website eventually bled into another until he was scarcely able to tell their content apart. When that happened, his tiredness was swift to remind him of its pestering existence.</p>
<p>Taking a moment to scrub at his strained eyes, his gaze returned forward to find a large ad filling his screen. Apparently his spam blocker failed to snuff out every scrap of useless advertisement the internet housed. In this case, the ad was catered to someone seeking an escape through an erotic fantasy game. The lewd image of a medieval maiden, with clothes torn in just the right places, certainly highlighted the ‘adventure’ aspect of the game.</p>
<p>Rolling his eyes, Quentin exited out of the ad only for another to pop up seconds later. His eyebrows pinched together in frustration as his cursor moved to close this one too. Sadly his attempts were thwarted by the sudden appearance of multiple advertisements, their large messages popping up to wholly clutter his screen. Every ad carried with it a similar theme to the first and, after each quick glance when closing them, those sexy images started to have a noticeable effect on him.</p>
<p>Despite his mounting fatigue, it was plainly obvious that his libido still demanded attention on occasion; however, in lieu of indulging the sparked flame in his loins, Quentin angrily slammed his laptop monitor shut. Warmth licked at his cheeks as his mind dwelled on the last few images. His detailed imagination kicked in next, the teasing pictures transforming into animated ones before he gave his head another vicious shake.</p>
<p>“Fuck…”</p>
<p>Tilting his head back, he stared at the ceiling whilst trying to quell the fires of desire curling in his belly. Considering how boring it was to merely stare into a painted void, it came as no surprise when his eyelids eventually began to droop again. His first reaction was to scrub at his orbs again, rub away the sleepiness threatening to pull him under, but his limbs were content with their inaction. Besides, a small break was not going to hurt him and a generous swig of Red Bull was going to doubly ensure that.</p>
<p>Crushing the empty can and tossing it back on his messy desk, Quentin proceeded to lounge about for a spell. Ceiling within view, he minutely contemplated adding a few posters up there to spruce up its plainness. A dinging noise garnered his attention and prompted him to turn back toward his laptop. Strangely enough, his laptop monitor was now flipped back open and displaying some sort of video clip. Eyebrows arching in bemusement, his fingers hesitantly inched forward to inspect his device. Did his laptop just magically open all by itself or something?</p>
<p>A moment worth of fiddling with the edges of the lid and fingering the laptop hinge offered no answers to solve the mystery before him. Releasing a pensive sigh, Quentin averted his gaze back to the paused video filling up the screen, the play button practically screaming to be clicked. Additionally, the total blackness of the preview image revealed no hints either which added to its intrigue; but, knowing his luck, it was probably more porn.</p>
<p>Dragging the cursor around the video player, there appeared to be no obvious close option to click on. Experimental clicks on the top corners of the player, the normal places where the convenient ‘X’ was located, did nothing as well. Believing the video had frozen his machine, Quentin prepared to power it down until additional noises started filtering through the built-in laptop speakers.</p>
<p>“Huh?” Orbs immediately flicking back to the monitor, he watched in confusion as the video began to play without his input. Not in the mood to deal with a second round of impossibly-removable-advertisements, his finger extended toward the power button and made to press down.</p>
<p>“Are we gonna play now Mr. Krueger?”</p>
<p>“Of course Quentin.”</p>
<p>His movement came to an abrupt halt the second he heard his name, his orbs gravitating forward to become glued to the screen. In retrospect, there were probably plenty of people out in the world referred to by the same name, but something about this scene seemed vaguely familiar. The video content depicted a moderately lit place, somewhere indoors, with a sideways bed taking up the vast majority of the foreground. Poorly drawn pictures—something that a child might create—littered the wall behind the bed and shelving units, loaded to the brim with miscellaneous junk, filled up what was visible in the background.</p>
<p>Décor aside, Quentin then set his sights exclusively on the two individuals sitting on the bed. The first was a brown-haired child, seemingly younger than ten, looking much too rambunctious for words while the second was an older male, possibly mid-thirties, sporting a fond smile while attempting to calm the boy down. Why did these two look so familiar to him?</p>
<p>“Hey, that tickles,” the child lightheartedly giggled out, the complaint apparently causing the older of the pair to smirk. What troubled Quentin the most was that the boy had been maneuvered into a large lap, full view facing the camera, with the older now groping beneath his multicoloured, horizontally striped shirt. Was this some kind of disgusting child pornography? “Mr. Krueger… P-Please stop.”</p>
<p>“You like it,” the older male, this Mr. Krueger, knowingly replied though his actions ceased all the same. “But you know it’ll feel better with your clothes off.”</p>
<p>“Fuck this,” he repulsively mumbled to himself.</p>
<p>There was no way in hell he was going to sit by and watch an innocent boy get molested by some pervert. Wholly intent on finding the source of the disturbing video and reporting it to the police, Quentin was shocked to find his forearms suddenly stuck to his desk; plus, to complicate matters, his body was unable to free itself from his seat either. What the fuck was going on now? Unsuccessfully twisting, thrashing and pulling on his arms with all his might only fortified his inescapable predicament which then produced panic.</p>
<p>Scanning his bedroom for something of use, anything which might free him, a squeaky grunt abruptly flew out of his mouth when his chin was gripped and tugged sideways. Here his eyes speedily locked onto a pair of miscoloured ones, their sparkle accentuating the undisguised mirth aimed at him. It was the burned man, the mysterious one from his dreams, which meant that he was asleep right now.</p>
<p>“Don’t turn away,” the burned man practically chided, his gravelly voice matching his rough appearance. “You’ll miss the best parts.”</p>
<p>With that, his chin was angled back toward the direction of the screen before it was promptly released. However, he harboured no desire to go along with any of this nonsense; this was <em>his</em> dream and he was determined to take control and escape it. Besides, though potentially fright inducing, dreams never hurt anyone.</p>
<p>A harsh yank on his unruly locks stopped his struggles from renewing as his head was, once again, oriented upright to look at the video playing. “<em>Watch,</em>” the guy sharply commanded, the harsh whisper blowing against his ear, “or should I cut ahead to a better scene?”</p>
<p>Quentin was tempted to speak afterward, demand freedom or demand answers, until the feeling of metal grazing against his neck instantly caused him to stiffen. The pressure was featherlight yet he felt everything as those cold claws glided from one side of his throat to the other in a half circle motion. His brain deciphered the true meaning of the cutting message loud and clear shortly afterward, especially when the awful sensation was repeated a second time.</p>
<p>“Don’t,” he managed to thickly voice, his heart pounding against his ribcage and his skin beginning to quiver.</p>
<p>“Then watch.”</p>
<p>Eyes reluctantly flicking toward the screen, Quentin elected to heed the warning while his mind wandered to thoughts of escape. The video, however, was difficult to ignore given the obscene noises and sensual visuals which, for some odd reason, rang bells. Those noises from the boy and the praise from Mr. Krueger, most specifically, triggered memories of all things, very fuzzy ones which gradually cleared as the minutes ticked by. Why?</p>
<p>Noticing arms draping across the back of his computer chair to then loosely rest against his chest almost startled him. Although, what really made him jump was when a gloved hand started lightly fondling his clothed torso, the motions mimicking the ones found in the video. The little boy, now pinned underneath Mr. Krueger, lowly moaned in pleasure as those claws dragged along the smooth flesh of his torso. Meanwhile, outside of the screen, blades leisurely slicing through the fabric of his graphic T-shirt were definitely not something to moan about unless it was in complaint or in fear.</p>
<p>“W-Who are you?” Quentin questioned, his gaze drifting away from the nauseating video to eye his captor.</p>
<p>Receiving a hurt expression in response, or what constituted as one from such a mangled face, the mystery man then said, “You don’t remember me?”</p>
<p>Brows quickly furrowing from the lack of useful reply, he angrily answered, “<em>No</em>. Why the fuck would I—”</p>
<p>“You will.”</p>
<p>Afterward, Quentin found his head pushed back toward the screen while knifes finished cutting away at the front half of his shirt. A violent flinch rippled through him when the cool steel touched his exposed chest, their lingering presence against his flesh yielding goosebumps. He tried his damnedest to stay still while the claws were lazily dragged across his torso, their movement seemingly exploratory as they mapped out his plains of lean musculature.</p>
<p>Tears budded at his eyes not only from the unwanted attention below but from the direction which the video was taking. After assumedly slicing up the child, Mr. Krueger dove in to lick at those freshly created wounds, his tongue appearing much too satisfied in its assault. The look of pure ecstasy the young boy was expressing, along with several happy sounds, had his stomach churning to no end.</p>
<p>“My sweet baby boy,” the older male in the video sweetly purred, his comment making Quentin choke back bile. “You like that?”</p>
<p>“Y-Yeah.” Why in the world did the kid like <em>this?</em> Brainwash, he deduced a moment later, it had to be considering how naïve and trusting children were and this guy seemed like the manipulative sort. Wait a minute, that fedora… It looked nearly identical to the one that the burned man wore.</p>
<p>Chancing a small glance upward, he took note of the battered fedora the mystery man possessed and swiftly started comparing it to the one from the video. Aside from the obvious damage, their colouring and style were closely matched which included the dents in the top half of the hat. Was this guy the same Mr. Krueger from the video? Not likely. This asshole just shared in a similarly sick liking of molestation and weird fashion sense.</p>
<p>“Please Mr. Krueger,” the child from the video pleaded, “plea—”</p>
<p>“I know Quen, I know,” Mr. Krueger patiently informed. “Be patient and let me enjoy our playtime too.”</p>
<p>Quen? Hardly anyone called him that except for his closest friends, and yet the way it was spoken evoked another handful of memories. But this was not him, this smiling boy fidgeting in pleasure and begging for more was absolutely <em>not</em> him!</p>
<p>“It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream,” he continuously chanted beneath his breath even as those claws truly began to dig in, the bright burst of pain lasting for but a few seconds before dulling to a subtle sting. “It’s not real. It-It… It’s just a—”</p>
<p>“It’s real,” the burned male firmly confirmed, the seriousness of his tone making the statement that much worse. Shivering from the feel of lips hovering around his earlobe, the other then affirmed, “<em>I’m real</em>.”</p>
<p>Head swaying left and right in denial, Quentin miserably gawked at the claws marring his chest while asking, “Why? Why’re you doing this?”</p>
<p>“You’ll see.”</p>
<p>Patience gone for whatever mind game this was turning into, he fired off a venomous glare at his assailant and then growled, “Fuck you.”</p>
<p>Instead of angering, the fucker actually cooed at him prior to saying, “Sounds like fun, and since we didn’t get to do that before…”</p>
<p>Witnessing the smirking burned male nod at the monitor again did not completely click in his mind. Initially he thought it was another warning to pay attention to the video when, in reality, it was a hint. Fixing his orbs back on the video, which had ramped up its disgusting content, he blanched as the true implications of that nod finally sank in: this bastard was implicitly implying that the two people in the video were them.</p>
<p>“N-No… No, no, no. That can’t b—That’s not us!” he aggressively refuted, his eyes refusing to stare at the screen any longer.</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” Not dignifying the mystery man with a reply earned him a swift slice across his lower stomach and rough fingers threading themselves in his hair again. Knowing where his eyes were aimed was encouragement enough to keep them shut; however, the other male was clearly not impressed by his defiance and soon made that fact known. The feeling of metallic tips grazing close to his right eyelid prompted his cooperation, albeit shakily, as his orbs hesitantly opened. “Why don’t you take another <em>long</em>, hard look?”</p>
<p>Those claws retreated soon after but not before gifting his right cheek with a tiny kitten scratch. This bastard was enjoying this too much but the guy <em>did</em> hold all of the cards right now which, oddly enough, only strengthen his resolve to awaken from this realistic hell somehow. Hence, determined to be defiant until his nightmare finally concluded, Quentin steeled his nerves and begrudgingly kept his gaze locked on the video. His plan was to obliterate his fear by forcing the crippling emotion to dissolve from existence which, hopefully, led to him waking up.</p>
<p>Otherwise, should that option fail, perhaps there was a way of appealing to the mystery man. His mind was manifesting the guy for a reason so maybe drumming up a reasonable conversation might explain the phenomenon. Although, the burned male seemed more interested in toying with him as opposed to conversing. Did he really want to have a conversation with this sicko anyway? No, his mind instantly replied, a sentiment which sounded quite definitive in its finality. But what other options were there?</p>
<p>A loud, shrill moan drew his focus back to the video where the young boy apparently climaxed from all the ‘stimulation’. The mere glimpse of the sheer bliss the child was displaying speedily aggravated his stomach, his forgotten nausea returning to wreak havoc on his insides. It took every shred of his willpower not to puke and even more so when his brain registered the faintest pleasure radiating from his chest. Having his skin faintly sliced should not feel good in the slightest but, for whatever reason, it was.</p>
<p>“Was that fun?” Mr. Krueger asked whilst peppering the blissed-out, sweaty boy below him with kisses.</p>
<p>Said boy remained incoherent for awhile, the release obviously sapping him of a fair portion of his energy, until he finally managed to mumble out a soft, “Mmhmm. Super fun.”</p>
<p>“Want me to keep going?”</p>
<p>“Well… I wanna make you feel good too,” the child adamantly declared, his pouty expression emphasizing the request greatly. “Can I?”</p>
<p>“If that’s what you want,” the older began to say, bloodstained lips accentuating his unspoken approval, “how can I say no? Maybe you’d even like to try fitting all of it in your mouth today?”</p>
<p>Expression faltering, the younger of the pair appeared to shrink inward whilst stammering out, “Oh, uhm, I-I don’t know if I—”</p>
<p>“I know you can,” the older male whispered in encouragement, his gloveless hand stroking circles on the child’s cheek. “You’re getting so much better at it.”</p>
<p>“R-Really?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely.”</p>
<p>Their conversation, especially with the little boy thoroughly blushing from the praise, coupled with his graphic imagery of the assumed scene to come had him violently lurching sideways and upchucking. Distantly, he heard the asshole chuckling in the background though he was far too preoccupied with the acidic bile burning away at his esophagus.</p>
<p>Stomach sufficiently emptied after his third heave, Quentin attempted to regain his composure while ignoring the now crystal clear cackling in the room. Some of his puke failed to hit the floor and instead clung to his upper bicep and shoulder, the strong scent of which nearly making his gut complain again.</p>
<p>Blocking out the pungent smell of regurgitated Red Bull and pizza pockets, he threw a weak glare toward the chuckling male and then barked, “Shut up, you sick f—Gah!”</p>
<p>His shout was followed closely by an abrupt stillness which resulted from a hand starting to palm at his clothed groin. Unbeknownst to him, during whichever part of this weird dream, his dick had betrayed him. Granted his undesired reaction was extremely minimal, but it was undeniably noticeable enough to be felt. Why was this happening to him?</p>
<p>“What’re you doing?”</p>
<p>The mystery guy snorted, possibly in response to his question, before emitting a hum of appreciation. “You’ve grown into such a naughty boy,” the other male remarked, his palm administering a brief squeeze, “haven’t you Quen?”</p>
<p>“Don’t fucking touch me!”</p>
<p>Thrashing with abandon, Quentin did everything he could to dislodge the foreign hand groping at his southern regions. Unfortunately, the only part of him which was mobile was his head; thus, in actuality, his struggling did little save for hurt his neck and anger his captor. Nevertheless, he was desperate enough to try anything and, if luck was on his side, his panicky flailing might rouse him from this terrible dream. Of course this was not the most pressing thought on his mind at present, especially when fingers went to fiddle with the button on his jeans.</p>
<p>Evidently his thrashing was as unwanted as it had been earlier and, therefore, it was hardly surprising to discover blades eventually thrusted against his jugular. His movement swiftly ceased as those metallic tips tickled his flesh before inching closer to dangerously press against the pulsating vein. Meanwhile those damnable digits down below managed to open up his jeans enough to fish of his very slight arousal. A shiver or two ran along his spine when the vague chill in the air licked at his exposed sex which then gave rise to an unconsciously, frightened whimper.</p>
<p>“Show’s not over yet,” the burned man slowly and menacingly explained before his tone adopted a mocking edge to it. “Might as well get nice and comfy.”</p>
<p>“God, please—”</p>
<p>Several peels of laughter interrupted his plea prior to the guy saying, “No, just me.”</p>
<p>With those claws aimed at his jugular while simultaneously keeping his head pointed straight ahead, a palm curled around his member and began to stroke it. He idly wondered where the slickness originated from, but the overly slimy substance gliding along his cock and the stomach-churning scent alone were dead giveaways. He hated how the cool slipperiness of his puke actually worked as a lubricant and, worse still, he utterly despised how amazing it felt.</p>
<p>The choking and slurping noises coming from his laptop were not helping his situation either though he dared not to peek at the screen. Besides, the sounds painted a pretty accurate image without him seeing anything which his imagination then transformed into a video of its own: the shy yet enthusiastic boy between Mr. Krueger’s spread legs, his tiny mouth struggling to swallow every inch but nonetheless trying while the older male praised his efforts.</p>
<p>“You’re sick,” he bit out through clenched teeth, his trapped hands trembly clenching and unclenching on his desk.</p>
<p>Earning nothing significant except for amused cackles, the owner then stated, “Not as much as you.”</p>
<p>Refusing to react to such a probable fact, Quentin went back to tuning out the pleasure afflicting his body. Try as he might however, the sensual touches below were getting him to full mast. Alternating firmness and softness accompanied by the odd fingering of his slit were beyond anything he had ever experienced before. Not counting what this sicko had implied earlier, no one else had ever touched him down there; furthermore, the electrifying sensations produced from a different hand was not something easily blocked out.</p>
<p>It was gross, or it should be, yet his body did not share the same opinion as his stubbornly defiant mind. Tears accumulated behind closed eyelids which eventually spilled over when his orbs cracked open to stare at the ceiling. How the hell did a dream feel so real anyway? And why was he not waking up yet?</p>
<p>“Good boy,” the burned male praised in his ear, the comment mirroring the one spoken to the young child in the video. “You always loved it when I called you that, did everything you could to earn my affection.”</p>
<p>He vaguely remembered that line too, the reutterance of those two words dragging more memories toward the forefront of his brain. Unlike before, said memories were less fuzzy and his craving for answers prompted him to chance a glance at the laptop screen again. Willing his upset stomach to settle, Quentin eyed the two individuals in the video carefully as he inwardly connected the figures to the ones in his memories.</p>
<p>That little boy really <em>was</em> him, and Mr. Krueger was what exactly? A perverted relative? To his knowledge, he had no relatives with that last name, but perhaps it had been changed? No, surely not, which meant that this man in the video was someone else—someone not related to him specifically. Concentrating hard, he then guessed that the older male had been a babysitter of his or maybe even a teacher. When both ideas were rejected, a brand-new and entirely unrelated suggestion came to mind: a gardener. But where did that random idea even come from?</p>
<p>Snippets of memory flashed across his semi-dazed eyes as an unstifled moan erupted from his throat. Further praise was whispered in his ear next while he shamefully blushed after noticing that he had begun to leak pre-cum. He was close, closer than he was willing to admit, and so too was he nearer to unlocking the answers he craved from his forgotten memories. Perhaps it was the stressful predicament working in his favour, the incredibly dizzying pleasure somehow providing him with mental clarity.</p>
<p>Remembering something like this was not welcomed in the slightest, but he <em>had</em> to know.</p>
<p>Breaths ragged and temperature rising, Quentin focused his last slivers of energy on the clearest image his mind drudged up—the blurry face of a smiling man waving him toward a long, white building—prior to losing it in a rapturous haze. Teeth sunk into the column of his throat as he screamed in ecstasy, his release hitting him much harder than predicted. The experience, to put it simply, was mind shattering, his brain literally going blank as the world around him temporarily faded away. Someone else giving him pleasure was infinitely better, much to his chagrin in this case, than attempting to pleasure himself.</p>
<p>Sadly his crash landing back to Earth was a harsh one though he miraculously held back another wave of tears. This had been one hell of a disturbingly wet dream thus far, one which he hoped never repeated itself; however, he worried about what was to happen next since this seemed far from over. What was Freddy going to… Freddy? Freddy Krueger?</p>
<p>Feeling his chair swivel around to fully face the burned man, Quentin fixed inquisitively half-lidded orbs on the other male whilst tentatively asking, “Freddy?”</p>
<p>The man instantly shot him a proud, almost smug, grin as those miscoloured eyes of his lit up like the headlamps on a car. “Good boy,” the guy, Freddy, uttered gleefully, the reiteration of those words as shudder inducing as those faintly bloodied blades scissoring between them.</p>
<p>He scarcely had time to react to the flurry of knifes sailing through the air toward him although, prior to getting his face slashed, a shrill gasp tumbled out of his mouth as his head snapped upright. Rapid breaths filled his ears while his orbs noted his chair facing his cluttered desk and closed laptop; additionally, his ability to move his limbs had been restored to him as well. A frantic search about his bedroom next confirmed that Freddy was no longer present which was a blessed comfort to his racing heart and flaring nerves.</p>
<p>He had woken up.</p>
<p>Turning back to face his desk, he quickly winced from a dull sting radiating from his chest. Peering down, his eyes widened exponentially at the sight of his tattered shirt and the scratches littering his torso. Inwardly muttering his disbelief, he then noted the puddle of puke beside his chair and the drying mess staining the insides of his underwear and jeans. Hand flying upward to cup at his neck, Quentin was horrified when he pulled it back to find it soaked in blood. Impossible.</p>
<p>How did a dream, not matter how realistic it was, manage to hurt him? This had never happened before but, then again, this was the first time Freddy had physically attacked him. The mere thought of the burned pervert induced fear, a feeling which drove him to shakily curse and then down two Zoneral pills for good measure. Anxiety threatening to make him hyperventilate, he opted to get rid of the evidence in hopes of forgetting what just occurred.</p>
<p>Mindful of his father sleeping in the other room, he briskly left his bedroom and shuffled off to the bathroom down the hall. Knowing how disapproving and unsympathetic his father tended to be, he planned to continue keeping his nightmares a secret from the man. Besides, telling his father made his disgustingly wet dream more real which he certainly did not want. All he truly desired was to forget it all.</p>
<p>Flicking on the bathroom light and locking the door behind him, he then moved toward the shower and cranked the handle to the hottest setting his skin was capable of tolerating. His sullied clothes were removed in a blur as he swiftly stepped beneath the scorching spray of the water. A hiss slipped out when the liquid came into contact with his cuts and bite wound though he paid little mind to the minor discomfort afterward. Instead, he furiously scrubbed at the tacky blood and perspiration clinging to his skin, and especially the gunk caked on his softened cock.</p>
<p>Elsewise, he continued to reel from his most recent dream and the old memories which resurfaced in the aftermath of his embarrassing orgasm. While plenty of those memories remained thankfully dark and fuzzy, one thing became unbelievably clear to him: the mystery man went by the name of Freddy Krueger, a person from his past now haunting him in his dreams, and his true encounters with the perverted bastard seemed to be just beginning.</p>
<p>Hence, fearing the worst from his much too realistic dreams, he foolishly vowed never to sleep again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Dangers Of Dreaming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ever wonder how Quentin knew that Jesse had died in his sleep? This chapter is basically my interpretation of that missing moment in the movie.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Given the recent deaths of his two friends, Dean and Kris, his father had allowed him to take time off from school; therefore, he was left to ‘cope’ in peace in an empty house for the day. Of course his idea of coping had been keeping busy by trying to uncover answers surrounding those deaths. It was difficult to grieve when he knew that their untimely demises were not the product of accidents or suicides. Moreover, it seemed as though the demon in his dreams was responsible for said demises somehow. In fact, according to Jesse and Nancy, Freddy was not solely plaguing his dreams either.</p>
<p>Thinking of his best friend quickly reminded him of his visit to the local jail earlier this morning. Hearing about Kris’ death and Jesse’s suspected involvement from Nancy had been a crushing blow, and the confirmation from his incarcerated friend only made it worse. Although, the explanation Jesse had given him regarding the true culprit of the crime really had his stomach dropping.</p>
<p>Apparently Kris was having trouble coming to grips with Dean’s death and her dreams reflected this to the extreme. Jesse then recalled her saying that Dean had similar dreams, of a burned man with knifes for fingers, before he died and it was those dreams, that man lurking within them specifically, that killed Kris too. He grimaced when the next memory of their conversation resurfaced, the image of utter fright weighing heavily on Jesse’s face when Quentin revealed that he was dreaming of Freddy as well.</p>
<p>The police interrupted before he was able to calm his friend down, but he promised Jesse that he was going to research the issue and find some way to figure this out. Until then, not falling asleep was an absolute must and his friend was only happy to scream that fact at him whilst a police officer dragged Jesse away to his cell. Spending time in jail was scary enough and now his friend was forced to handle the stress of it all <em>while</em> trying to stay awake? He had been optimistic then, for both of their sakes, but his recent findings at Powell’s Book Store dimmed that feeling significantly.</p>
<p>Furthermore, following his visit with Jesse, Nancy had joined him at said bookstore to locate some information on sleep and anything they witnessed during their dreams that might be important. Seeing children, specifically little girls, had been their most common sighting along with Freddy himself. Otherwise, there was a school too, albeit a small one, though he barely caught a glimpse of it during that dream before his father thankfully barged into his room to check up on him.</p>
<p>In any event, their research produced more questions than answers and outlined the narrow window of time the both of them had to deal with. Simply put, prolonged insomnia eventually led to micro-naps, unknowingly dreaming while still awake, and then continued sleeplessness was inevitably going to induce a coma—permanent sleep. Hence, their very hours were numbered with their only viable idea being that their lives—namely the both of them, Jesse, Kris and Dean—were somehow connected to each other or to Freddy.</p>
<p>He vaguely recollected his connection to the dream demon even after that disgusting nightmare involving the suggestive video of him, as a child, with Freddy. However, he had yet to wholly accept what he saw during said nightmare as truth and especially since nothing of this bizarre situation seemed real to begin with. There had been <em>a</em> Freddy from his past, that much he remembered, yet anything else regarding the burned man remained a distant blur. Nevertheless, a gnawing feeling in his gut, something he was unable to shake, told him that he had a prior connection to his friends <em>and</em> to Freddy.</p>
<p>Thus, here he was, pacing around his bedroom in an attempt to jog his memory whilst warding off the mounting urge to sleep. A tired frown was occasionally cast toward his untidy bed while the handful of open books strewn atop it practically glared back at him. Whatever answers he hoped were hidden in their pages were clearly not popping out to him anytime soon. Perusing the internet again was always an option though the thought of falling asleep near computers, like with his laptop and with the bookstore computer, kept him from immediately utilising the source.</p>
<p>He supposed he could bounce ideas off of Nancy again, and vice versa, but they both needed some time to themselves to process things—everything really. Although, it was almost impossible to think properly when his body continuously forewarned him of how exhausted it was. Why was trying to stay awake so much harder now? Pulling all-nighters for homework or relaxing with friends seemed so effortless in the past, but when he actually <em>needed</em> to stay conscious? Forget about it.</p>
<p>Scrubbing at his droopy eyes for the billionth time, his complaining bladder finally encouraged him to sate at least one of his bodily needs. Drinking insane amounts of liquid, namely Red Bull and coffee, tended to have that effect on a person and he was no exception. Plus, weirdly enough, the normalcy of having to go to the bathroom, a simple though sometimes disgustingly painful act, somehow calmed him down. And normal was something he desperately wanted right now, something to ground him while his life potentially hung in the balance.</p>
<p>Business with the porcelain alter concluded, Quentin exited the bathroom to find a sight most disturbing. In lieu of the familiar hallway he expected to see, his suddenly alert orbs were greeted by the grungy interior of a freaky looking warehouse. Whirling around, his alarm escalated when he noticed the bathroom, door and all, had disappeared entirely too. What the fuck was this?</p>
<p>His anxiety kicked up a nasty fuss as his eyes surveyed his new and frightening surroundings. Rusty machinery, some of which seemingly still functioning, covered nearly every inch of the area while equally rusty catwalks, stairs and pipes filled in the remaining space. Smoke, or possibly steam, intermittently obstructed those details and simultaneously made breathing a noticeable chore. Ominous hues, a mixture of orangey browns and reds, accentuated by random flames here and there further defined the sheer creepiness of the interior. And finally, to make matters infinitely worse, there appeared to be no end nor exit from this strange place.</p>
<p>“Shit…”</p>
<p>Though fearful, his curiosity still managed to compel him to take action and prove his sightings as reality. For instance, the catwalk he was currently standing on was capable of supporting his weight and its solidness beneath his shoes seemed real enough. Eyes shifting to the railing in front of him, one of his hands carefully reached forward and grasped it. A layer of filth, something tacky and coarse in feel, greased his palm soon after, another detail which was arguably real. The smells too, the hint of nose wrinkling dust concealed by the overpowering smoky stench, seemed as authentic as any other scent to cross his nostrils.</p>
<p>Everything seemed so real, but how was that possible?</p>
<p>The sound of children giggling startled him from his observations and prompted him to seek out the shrill source with his eyes. Those seemingly innocent noises, female too by the sound of it, were reminiscent of the ones he had heard in Powell’s Book Store—among other places—during his impromptu nap there. Was this all a fabrication of his mind then, a hallucination or another realistic dream? Given the circumstances and his latest experiences, he was inclined to believe that nothing about this, whatever ‘this’ happened to be, was harmless.</p>
<p>Wishing to do something besides gawk at the scenery, Quentin threw a portion of his cautiousness aside in favour of exploring. Each step against the metal catwalk echoed throughout the area as his orbs searched for anything of interest. Of course nothing really stood out when everything, each bit of machinery and every cluster of pipes, practically blurred into one another. He was nonetheless undeterred in the face of potential danger and when this scary place might provide him with the answers he desired.</p>
<p>“Quentin.” Pausing abruptly, his neck cranked back toward the area he had walked through moments prior. Regardless of how hard he squinted, no one appeared to be there yet he knew he heard his name being called. “Quen, please,” the voice spoke again, its desperation lingering in the smoky air, “don’t leave me here.”</p>
<p>“Jesse?” Why was his best friend calling out to him? What the hell was going on?</p>
<p>Curiosity outweighing his wariness, he doubled back and proceeded down the stairs toward the ground floor. Whimpers and soft sobs, seemingly from Jesse, guided his stride around the maze of pipes and machinery until an ugly cackle forced him to a halt. That familiar grating sound had his frantic gaze immediately seeking out a battered fedora attached to a burned man. There was no mistaking it now: this <em>had</em> to be a dream, and it appeared as though Freddy was watching him.</p>
<p>“Freddy?” Quentin stupidly tried when his eyes failed to locate the male in question.</p>
<p>Receiving no reply, he minutely contemplated hiding until a scraping noise resounded from behind him. A rush of panic spurred him into moving, his quick reaction saving him from a handful of claws swiping at his backside. Catching a glimpse of Freddy, smirking like a demon, pursuing him prompted Quentin to run faster, his speed carrying him throughout the twists and turns outlined by the rusted machinery.</p>
<p>Frequent glances were shot behind him during the chase and Freddy, somehow, seemed to be getting closer with every passing second. Fear kept him from slowing down, even as his lungs began to protest, but witnessing the dream demon nearing without even breaking a sweat did take its toll on his hope. How was this guy so damn fast? Glancing back yet again, his brows pinched together in confusion at the absence of his pursuer. Had the older male finally lost him amongst the cluttered warehouse?</p>
<p>A palm clamping around his neck suddenly interrupted his sigh of relief, his eyes briefly finding a mangled face near his own before his body was swiftly thrown through the air. Pain blossomed across his back the second it came into contact with something solid, presumably one of the many machines, its initial sharpness gradually lessening to a stinging throb while he recovered. Moments later, laughter punched through the slight ringing in his ears, its cheerfulness both infuriating and frightening to hear.</p>
<p>While probably irrelevant now, he deduced that Freddy must have taken an alternative route to cut him off. And now the sound of footsteps scraping against the dirty floor were drawing nearer to his prone figure. Move idiot, his mind screamed at him, a sentiment which he greatly wished to obey <em>before</em> he was eviscerated.</p>
<p>Thankfully he had adrenaline on his side, the life-saving hormone propelling him to his feet and away from his attacker. He was not ready to meet the sharpness of those blades anytime soon and hence, in an effort to avoid getting grabbed again, he ventured upward onto the catwalks. Admittedly his stride was less coordinated after getting tossed or perhaps his growing fear was hampering it. He really was going to die, just like Dean and Kris, and then Freddy was sure to finish off Jesse and Nancy and whoever else might be dreaming of the burned man.</p>
<p>Maybe there was a different way of handling his violent assailant, like fighting back or something. After all, this was just a dream, right? Nothing in here was real unless he believed it to be so, and the fear surrounding said belief was what was actually hurting him—probably. Though odd and debatably flawed, Quentin clutched his necklace whilst he prayed that his new idea did not foolishly get him killed.</p>
<p>Screeching to a halt, he spun around in a half circle and confidently exclaimed, “Alright, m’done with—”</p>
<p>His sentence died the second he realized his pursuer had vanished on him again and nothing but an empty, grimy catwalk leered back at him. Such observations prompted him to run forward—toward where he had just come from—as his attacker was likely behind him now and preparing for a second strike. The whooshing sound of claws slashing through the empty air behind him confirmed that his split-second decision worked; however, his plan did not account for any interference afterward. Hence, needless to say, getting violently thrown sideways over the railing of the catwalk by a seemingly invisible force was not a scenario he had anticipated.</p>
<p>A startled yelp flew from his mouth as his figure sailed downward and roughly crashed to the gritty floor below. He scarcely registered his skull knocking against the solid surface before his world abruptly went black and his awareness faded away. Whether he truly lost consciousness or not was unknown, but the pain radiating from his right shoulder and his temple pierced through his disorientation easily enough. Unlike before, he landed awkwardly on his side and the sharp aches coupled with his newfound dizziness were too agonizing to power through straight away.</p>
<p>Something dripping onto his upturned cheek, something cold and wet, distracted him from the pain though it took several moments until the idea of discovering what it was came to mind. Was it condensation from the pipes or oil from the machinery?</p>
<p>While he struggled to sit upright, his sense of smell finally returned to alert him of the pungent odour, which was clearly not from the smoke, hovering in the air. The stench was nauseating, to put it bluntly, yet he was unable to determine what exactly might be the cause of it. Was this what Freddy smelled like? Gross.</p>
<p>Sheer fright eventually kicking his system into gear, Quentin gruntingly staggered to his feet where his squinted eyes instantly spotted the source of the stench. Bodies, dead and <em>very</em> bloodied bodies, hung from a cluster of vertical pipes, like gory decorations, their positions either right-side up or upside down.</p>
<p>“Oh sh—” Stumbling back in surprise, his shock intensified when he noted how familiar those bodies were. “No…” Tears stung at his orbs as he trembly approached the bodies, a hand extending out to hang in the air. Only one of the corpses was leaking fluid, the not-so-fresh and dark-coloured blood explaining what was pelting his cheek from earlier. Naturally this fact was ignored in his stunned state as he continued to stare helplessly at the image before him. “Dean, Kris… J-Jesse.”</p>
<p>An overwhelming need to verify this as real forced his arm closer toward the upside-down face of his best friend. Coolness, something too cold to be normal, first greeted his fingertips followed by the clumpy thick feel of drying blood clinging to a pale cheek. The trembling in his hand increased when it roamed upward to inspect the giant, gaping wound in Jesse’s torso. Judging by the multiple holes in his orange jumpsuit, both in the back and in the front, Quentin ventured to guess that something had been driven straight through Jesse. His imagination flooded with possibilities soon after, all of which quite nasty, but ultimately the image of sharp claws won his vote.</p>
<p>This was not real though; there was no way any of this was real. Dean had been buried sometime ago, his body laid to rest in the cemetery while Kris’ body was probably getting examined in the morgue. And Jesse was alive, likely struggling to stay awake but nonetheless <em>alive</em>. Was this <em>really</em> real? His senses told him one thing, with undoubtable clarity, while his disbelief and hope preached another.</p>
<p>“This isn’t real,” he eventually uttered, his voice thick with doubt and fear. “It can’t be.”</p>
<p>“Yes it is.”</p>
<p>Plastering on an angry frown, Quentin slowly turned about to face the nightmare creature haunting their dreams. Instead of witnessing smugness or joy, Freddy displayed a peculiar expression, one which mildly resembled resentment. The threatening look and their meager distance apart were certainly unnerving however, courtesy of his ire and anguish working in tandem, his feet remained firmly rooted in their place. He had to stop running around the building like a headless chicken and focus his energy on gaining some meaningful answers instead.</p>
<p>Hopefully he remained alive long enough to do something with them once acquired.</p>
<p>“You really <em>did</em> kill them,” Quentin miserably stated, his willpower desperately attempting to keep his tears from falling, “didn’t you? Why would y—”</p>
<p>Resentment melting away to reveal playfulness, Freddy interjected with a hearty chuckle prior to saying, “We had a little fun first.”</p>
<p>He shuddered to think of what sort of ‘fun’ the man was referring to and his vivid imagination of such aggravated his already queasy stomach. Composure barely maintained, Quentin swallowed the disgusting lump rising in his throat and exasperatedly declared, “This isn’t real! This is just a dream, an-an illusion. They’re <em>not</em> here,” he aggressively put forth whilst gesturing to the three bodies behind him, “and Jesse’s alive! He—”</p>
<p>“He starting screaming before I even cut him.”</p>
<p>Eyes enlarging to the size of saucers, his hope shattered into smithereens as moisture silently rolled down his cheeks. He fought for each hiccup-like breath, the burning sting lingering in his esophagus while his gut prepared to expel its contents. “N-No, that’s not… W-Why?” Quentin narrowly voiced around the sobs threatening to fly out into the open. “Why would you… What’d they ever do t’you?”</p>
<p>“Y’know, being forgotten is a real bitch,” Freddy remarked in an oddly calm fashion though the grimace he wore spoke otherwise.</p>
<p>Baffled by such words, he impatiently snapped, “So you killed them because they couldn’t remember you?”</p>
<p>“You all betrayed and killed me,” the burned man countered, those claws of his pointing menacingly at Quentin. Those miscoloured orbs too, the broiling rage projecting from them was almost palpable, but clearly it was misplaced because he, and surely none of his friends, had ever murdered anyone.</p>
<p>“What? No we didn’t!”</p>
<p>In spite of appearing highly amused, Freddy sounded positively livid when he answered, “Hmph. <em>Liar</em>.”</p>
<p>Dodging a bladed swipe by the skin of his teeth, Quentin then launched his body forward and tackled the man to the ground. Afterward, he immediately grasped at the knife glove and swiftly removed the weapon from his attacker’s hand. Freddy seemed moderately surprised by his antics, his miscoloured orbs watching his every move as he created distance between them again.</p>
<p>Hastily donning the glove, which miraculously fit his own hand, he eyes peered forward again to find the man giving him a disapproving head shake. “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Freddy mockingly tutted while ascending from the floor. “Children shouldn’t be playing with knifes.”</p>
<p>“Neither should you,” he snarked prior to stepping forward and swiping his gloved hand from right to left. Instead of landing a successfully damaging blow, his fingernails harmlessly grazed against the scratchy fabric of Freddy’s singed sweater. What happened to the glove? He incredulously examined his right hand like it had betrayed him, flipped it over thrice for good measure to ensure that the glove was most definitely not attached anymore. “What?”</p>
<p>A shiny gleam in his peripheral vision diverted his gaze forward where he saw Freddy waving those terrifying blades in front of his face. The glove, by some unexplainable feat, had found its way back to his attacker without his notice. His internal panic reflected on his rigid face frozen in shock which was soon met with a look of unhinged delight, the sight of which making him really hyperventilate.</p>
<p>“H-How?” he unintentionally voiced aloud, his legs feeling as though they were going to buckle underneath his weight.</p>
<p>“My world,” the man excitedly informed, his left hand shooting forward to yank Quentin closer to him. Claws then danced along a smooth, tear-stained cheek as Freddy sinisterly added, “My rules.”</p>
<p>Paralyzed by fear and trepidation, he simply stared at the dream demon in horror even as metallic tips brushed dangerously close to his left eye. His bottom lip quivered in the meantime, his legs shaking like flimsy tree branches flapping in the wind while Freddy shifted those knifes to press against his jugular.</p>
<p>Gifting him with a grotesque grin, a hint of teeth accentuating its wickedness, the man sweetly bid, “Nighty night Quen.”</p>
<p>A delayed scream erupted from the depths of his suddenly dry throat as the pressure against his neck intensified. Seconds later, a grunt past between his lips when his body collided with the messy floor in his bedroom. Hands flew up toward his neck at lightning speed to find only four shallow nicks in his skin and, luckily, no blood whatsoever. His orbs then wildly surveyed the familiar room as his lungs strived for oxygen and his heart harshly pounded against his ribcage. He belatedly suspected that he had fallen asleep on his bed, probably reading those books, where his dreams apparently took over after the fact.</p>
<p>Puffing out a prolonged sigh, he focused solely on calming his nerves and breathing evenly. Meanwhile, he leaned back to rest against his bedside only to wince from the ache the action produced. Though annoying to deal with, at least Freddy did not leave a noticeable mark like before when the bastard bit his neck. His head ached somewhat too but there was no blood either so the minor trauma was dismissed alongside the other aches his body possessed. He was just grateful to be alive after nearly getting impaled through the throat.</p>
<p>Thinking of impalement gradually reminded him of his deceased friends, specifically Jesse, hanging from the pipes in that scary warehouse. His best friend was well and truly dead, the acceptance of that knowledge bringing additional tears to his eyes. He promised to figure things out for Jesse and, honestly, all he really did was realise the true dangers of dreaming. His fingers tucked uselessly at his curly locks as his failure struck hard at his core, his shame somehow drudging up another detail he failed to remember sooner.</p>
<p>“Nancy,” he worriedly whispered beneath his breath. She needed to know what was going on and he needed to warn her before it was too late.</p>
<p>Scrambling toward his cluttered desk, Quentin snatched his cellphone off of the surface and instantly dialed Nancy’s number. Each deafening ring was a cliff-hanger for him and he prayed with every fiber of his being that she was still alive too.</p>
<p>Just when the call was about to forward to her voicemail, he heard a connecting click followed by an inquisitive, “Quentin?”</p>
<p>Thank god. “Nancy, he got to him, Jesse’s dead,” he rapidly expressed, his voice surprisingly staying even despite revealing the gut-wrenching news. “He died in his sleep.”</p>
<p>“I saw him,” Nancy said shortly afterward. “I fell asleep, I saw Freddy.”</p>
<p>Refusing to let her die too, especially to a guy like Freddy, Quentin steeled his panicky nerves and uttered a firm, “Alright, I’m coming over.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>Ending their call, he then scrounged up a useable pen and a notepad from the clutter littering his desk. After writing a short note explaining his whereabouts to his father, Quentin grabbed for his prescription bottle next. Much to his disappointment, only two pills—the very last two in fact—tumbled out of the container and onto his open palm.</p>
<p>“Shit.”</p>
<p>Weighing his options, he made the executive decision to take one pill now and save the other for later. The opportunity to acquire more, especially after taking beyond what was recommended, might not by readily available. Besides, with the threat of death drawing nearer and nearer, there was not exactly time to be worrying about refilling his medication; however, given their continued success, those pills were the only resource he trusted to keep him awake.</p>
<p>In any case, he quickly downed the single pill with a big swig of Red Bull and then set out for Nancy’s house. Though his fear lingered in the back of his mind, his hope for the two of them surviving this weirdness persisted. Freddy seemed all-powerful in their dreams, and flaunted that fact with great pride too, but this did not necessarily imply that the man was unstoppable. Perhaps the key to defeating the dream demon was locked away in their forgotten memories, the ones Freddy wanted them to remember.</p>
<p>But how did one go about doing that without some kind of hint or clue, a <em>useful</em> one, to jog their memory? The man did mention betrayal and killing though the accusation, if actually truthful, did not ring any bells for him. What else did that leave? Or, more importantly, were he and Nancy going to figure this out before Freddy slaughtered them?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Nightmare Continues</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Following the final events depicted in the film, this chapter illustrates my take on the fates of our heroes, Quentin Smith and Nancy Holbrook, after their nightmare appears to be over.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content regarding Nancy, specifically, loosely links back to similar content found within the twenty-first chapter from my other story, “Thus I Spiral Into Freedom”.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Groggily awakening in a hospital bed was not the greatest feeling in the world but, after what he survived through, Quentin was not about to complain. His peaceful slumber, albeit drug induced, was definitely something to celebrate in any case and, hopefully, Nancy was experiencing similarly restful sleep. He, however, was not overly concerned considering how well and victoriously things concluded at Badham Preschool.</p>
<p>Freddy was gone, his throat slashed open by the broken blade of a rusted paper cutter and his body burned to a crisp in the abandoned preschool. In his opinion, it was a fitting end for the dream demon to perish in the very place where their waking nightmares truly began. And now he and Nancy were free, the revelation filling him with a sense of relief he had not felt in weeks.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, despite their success, the marks the bastard left behind—physical and emotional—were surely going to last for a lifetime. His injuries specifically were destined to leave visible scars according to the emergency medical technicians from the ambulance. A discouraging tidbit to overhear indeed, but it was a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things. Frankly he was surprised he even recalled anything from that point and onward given the myriad of drugs they pumped into his system.</p>
<p>Speaking of remembering things, or not in this instance, a lengthy glance underneath his bedsheets and hospital gown confirmed that his injuries had been stitched up and bandaged without his knowledge. At least there was solace to be taken in the fact that those permanent markings were easily concealable. Otherwise, he was content to ignore them and willingly return to the desirous world of unconsciousness for the time being.</p>
<p>Before his eyelids had a chance to droop shut, the sound of faint snoring diverted his gaze to the left where he spotted his father slumbering in a hospital chair. While the sight was expected, Quentin did not understand why the man appeared so distressed, his slack face somehow contorted in an agonized expression. Had he really worried his father that much?</p>
<p>Forgoing sleep for just a smidge longer, he rolled his head to the side and mumbled out a weak, “Dad?”</p>
<p>“Huh, uh… Quen,” the other sleepily slurred, the drowsy expression he wore lasting for mere seconds before becoming alert. Quentin then witnessed as his father practically jumped to his bedside with lightning speed. “You’re awake. I didn’t expect you t’be up so soon. How d’you feel?” the older male continued to rapidly voice, his frantic movements almost humorous to watch. “Are you in pain? Do you need—”</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” he simply answered for all of the above while trying not to laugh.</p>
<p>A small smile graced his lips from the genuine care—a rarity most wholesome to see—his father was conveying. Somehow his caring expression made the man look even younger too in spite of his massive amounts of grey hair. He wondered if it was too much of a stretch to hope for some real, and lasting, normalcy between them now.</p>
<p>“Good,” the older chirped in relief, his happiness later expressed by a few breathy chuckles. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, me too.” Eyes minutely drifting around the room, Quentin noted the lack of one person in particular which prompted him to ask, “Is Nancy okay too? Was she discharged?”</p>
<p>The pure happiness his father was emitting vanished the moment the question left his mouth. “Gwen took her home. She’s fine.”</p>
<p>He disliked the curt reply and the sudden tension building up in the room but, most of all, he especially loathed the unkind glimmer swimming in those blue orbs. Unable to hold his tongue, he eyed the older male warily and prepared to face the heat for inquiring further. “What aren’t you telling me?”</p>
<p>Face hardening to reveal a stern scowl, the man nastily declared, “I don’t want you going anywhere <em>near</em> that girl. Do you understand m—”</p>
<p>“What?” he uttered in sheer disbelief. “Why not?”</p>
<p>“After what the two of you did, and your chest…” Temporarily cupping a hand over his mouth, the older male then gestured toward Quentin’s torso prior to questioning, “Why would you do this to yourself?”</p>
<p>Beyond flabbergasted, it was impossible to stay calm and civil in the face of <em>that</em> accusation. Pointing to the bedsheets hiding his dressed wounds, he stammered out an indignant, “Y-You think I did <em>this</em> to myself?”</p>
<p>“I think you had help,” his father bitterly corrected, their burning glares competing with each other, “and all because of this Krueger nonsense—”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t nonsense!” he angrily yelled in defence. “Freddy was there, <em>in</em> the preschool. We killed him after dragging him out of our dr—”</p>
<p>“No one else was there Quentin!” the man barked right back, his true ignorant colours shining through to their fullest now. “The both of you did god knows what in there and then you burned down an empty building. We’re lucky the police were willing to drop the arson charges this time,” his father spoke while fumingly walking around to the other side of his bed, “but we were still fined for the damage.”</p>
<p>Unperturbed by the charges or the aggression aimed at him, Quentin shook his head in disgust as he exasperatedly said, “God, you just… Why won’t you <em>listen</em> to me?”</p>
<p>Any form of response the older attempted to voice was postponed by a random nurse, her shrewd brown eyes highlighting her suspicion, entering the room and asking, “Is everything alright in here?”</p>
<p>He inwardly scoffed while watching his father masterfully school his expression into one of neutrality within seconds—like nothing was ever wrong. Afterward, the man acknowledged the newcomer with a brief nod and a polite, “Yes. I apologize for the noise, we were just—”</p>
<p>“I need help in here,” the nurse abruptly shouted, her body rushing to his bedside in an instant.</p>
<p>Confused by the reaction, Quentin followed her alarmed gaze downward to find blood stains now soaking through his bedsheets. “Oh no…” He scarcely noted ripping his stitches open through all the excitement, so to speak, but the steady blood loss was starting to grow exceedingly noticeable.</p>
<p>“Is he alright?” his father impatiently demanded, the worry afflicting the man earlier resurfacing anew. “What’s go—”</p>
<p>“Get him out of here,” the woman relayed to her fellow co-workers flooding into the room whilst her hands busying themselves with exposing the damage.</p>
<p>The events occurring afterward resulted in a blur courtesy of a second dosage of sedative injected into his arm. Darkness soon overtook his vision and an all-consuming, blackened void enveloped his mind in an inescapable embrace.</p>
<p>--------------------</p>
<p>Wakening up just as groggy as before, his only indication that time had truly passed was the clock hanging on the wall of his hospital room. As anticipated, a peek at his chest revealed that his stitches and dressings were redone to perfection. Of course his little accident was hardly his fault when his father was acting like an ignorant ass, but he knew such behaviour from the man was not terribly shocking after living with it for seventeen years. Additionally, his father did not know, and was certain not to believe, the whole story regarding the Freddy incident anyway.</p>
<p>Night gradually bled into day and, by the afternoon, he was cleared for discharge from the hospital. Said discharge was a quiet affair on account of him refusing to speak to his father. He was tempted to, for the sake of defending Nancy and his right to live his life how he pleased, but the doctor dissuaded him from any and all strenuous activity which might slow his recovery. Arguing with his father, something essentially guaranteed to happen, fell under that extensive category. Hence, he continued to remain dutifully silent during the drive back home, his eyes exclusively focusing on the passing scenery.</p>
<p>“What the…”</p>
<p>Intrigued by the non-questioning or reprimanding outburst, Quentin peered forward to discover a couple of cop cars filling his neighbourhood street. His orbs then widened and his stomach basically dropped at the sight of numerous officers and police tape surrounding the Holbrook residence. What was going on now?</p>
<p>Once the car came to a complete stop on his driveway, Quentin stepped out and immediately headed toward the taped-off house. His father intercepted his pathing before he made too far, strong hands on his shoulders preventing him from veering around the unwanted obstacle.</p>
<p>“Get inside.”</p>
<p>“<em>No</em>,” he adamantly protested. “I wanna know what’s going on.”</p>
<p>Levelling his defiance with an irritated frown, the man eventually compromised by saying, “I’ll find out. Just get inside the house.”</p>
<p>Forcibly accepting the keys shoved into his hand, he observed as his father trudged across the street to investigate the commotion over yonder. Not keen on hearing a watered-down explanation though, Quentin subtly slunk into the crowded street to acquire his own answers. Getting a glimpse of the property was impossible from this distance and with all the bodies blocking his view; however, the sight of two police officers conversing by their vehicle looked promising. Once within range, he proceeded to eavesdrop on the two cops while simultaneously keeping an eye on his father.</p>
<p>“D’you think the daughter’s behind it?” the first officer, a male with a bushy black moustache, inquired to his partner.</p>
<p>“Hard to tell,” the second, a female holding a cup of coffee, answered. “She wasn’t responsive.” We’re they implying that Nancy was dead?</p>
<p>“Is she getting charged?” the male cop further questioned.</p>
<p>“Not yet,” the female imparted. “They took her to Westin Hills Psychiatric Hospital for psychiatric evaluation—”</p>
<p>“Westin Hills,” Quentin murmured thoughtfully under his breath, his attention becoming fully fixated on the pair of officers.</p>
<p>“—for the time being. Until then, just focus on the evidence here,” the female sternly stressed prior to taking a swig from her coffee cup. “The mother might still be around.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, better to think she’s just missing,” the male cop positively remarked despite the grimace clinging to his face. “There’ve been too many deaths in this town already.”</p>
<p>The female officer vaguely shook her head prior to voicing a doubtful, “With the amount of blood in there, I wouldn’t hold my breath.”</p>
<p>“Quentin.” An unpleasant shudder ran through him when a powerful squeeze began crushing his shoulder. Swiftly cranking his neck backward, he discovered his father to be the culprit, the man now staring at him in a greatly disapproving manner. “Let’s go.”</p>
<p>Quentin numbly allowed his father to steer him back home as overwhelming despair crashed down on him. Nancy’s mother, Gwen, was ‘missing’ and Nancy herself was taken away to the mental institute outside of town; though the incident would receive a verdict in the future, he already knew what really happened. Freddy had returned, cheated death yet again and apparently was back to tie up loose ends. The shock alone was enough to make him nauseous, make him wish this was still some horrible dream he was stuck in.</p>
<p>Inwardly giving his head a shake, he forced his mind to stay focused on what mattered most: figuring out a way to stop Freddy before it was too late. First tough, he somehow needed to find a way to sneak away and see Nancy. He had to know that she was alive and okay, but a certain parent of his was not going to make his goal easy.</p>
<p>“C’mon bud,” his father urged with a light nudge against his back, “upstairs.” Quentin blindly followed the command, his legs sauntering upstairs to his bedroom with the older male in tow. He was then ushered inside said bedroom with a tiny shove and a gentle, “Now get some rest, okay.”</p>
<p>Enduring the hand musing his curls and the kiss planted on the ruffled mess afterward, Quentin merely bit his tongue and awaited the soft click of a closing door. Deep down, he knew his father meant well and was just trying to protect him, which the man mentioned beforehand, but that did not excuse his lack of empathy. Whatever; he had other, more important things to figure out anyway.</p>
<p>In lieu of resting, he pensively weighed his options while listening to the retreating footsteps outside of his room. A ride was necessary in order to reach the psychiatric hospital and though escaping his house was doable, especially when his father eventually retired to his study for the night, time was of the essence.</p>
<p>Trying to sneak out now, at least through the front door, was sure to result in him getting caught. His bedroom window, however, gave him the option of leaving straight away; although, he risked his stitches ripping a second time which a climb down the trellises all but guaranteed. Besides, he then needed to double back inside to grab the car keys which, hopefully, were in the same place as usual. No, he had to escape now and do so by going through the house.</p>
<p>A blaring phone suddenly echoed throughout his home, the shrill ringing almost causing him to jump. Hearing the sound eventually stop generated a brilliant idea: with his father distracted, he was now capable of heading downstairs and snagging the car keys without getting spotted. However, if the person on the other end was another telemarketer, the call was not going to last longer than five seconds.</p>
<p>Eager to find out, Quentin grabbed a few necessities, in case the caller was a favourable one, and then slowly peered outside his bedroom door to listen for voices immersed in conversation. Distantly, he heard snippets of it bouncing off of the walls but the coast seemed to be clear otherwise. Confident that his father was sufficiently preoccupied, he cautiously started tiptoeing through the hall and down the stairs to the entryway.</p>
<p>Quiet relief washed through him the moment he located the car keys on the table sitting by the front door—exactly where they normally were. Collecting them, he quickly checked his surroundings for trouble and immediately paled from the sight of a familiar person. Panic gave him the agility he required to duck behind cover, namely a wall, without getting seen though his nerves were not so quick to recover. There, just inside the living room, was his father, the man grumpily pacing about with the receiver held against his ear. He assumed the call was answered upstairs, not down here, and now he was truly stuck between a rock and a hard place.</p>
<p>His ticket to freedom, the front door, was in direct view of the living room; therefore, unless his father’s back was turned long enough, he was not going outside that way; hence, the back door, through the kitchen, was the only other choice. Taking a peek inside the living room again, his eyes promptly widened at the absence of his father. His hunt for any semblance of noise led him to glancing down the hallway leading toward the kitchen and, sure enough, his father was right there.</p>
<p>Breaking out from his momentarily petrified state, he quietly dashed backward toward the front door and stealthily crept outside before the man faced the hallway. A gander through the door window confirmed that his father was none the wiser to his escape but that did not stop his heart from galloping. Capitalising on his success thus far, he bolted toward the car in the driveway, carefully climbed into the vehicle and started the beast. The roar of the engine was fairly quiet though he was not apt to linger on the off chance that it was heard indoors.</p>
<p>Driving away and out of the neighborhood, he headed toward the edge of town and simply followed the signs along the way. He harboured a decent enough idea of where to go anyway, without guidance, and time squandered stopping and asking for directions was out of the question. Hell, he might already be too late yet it was a possibly he refused to let his anxiety fly off with until he saw the sad truth with his own two eyes.</p>
<p>His stitches were less than happy getting crushed by the seatbelt again so he belatedly elected to take the damn thing off. Since he was moderately rested, he was confident enough in his ability to avoid any unexpected accidents this time. Hopefully there were no bored police officers around either because he did not want to deal with that bullshit. In spite of their best intentions, cops were not exactly in his good books as of late.</p>
<p>Arriving at his destination, an eerie looking building all things considered, Quentin quickly pulled into the visitor parking lot and exited his vehicle. Whilst he entered the facility, he prayed with all of his soul that Nancy was here and, most importantly, that she was still alive. The interior was quite spacious, its simple colour scheme—blues, whites and crèmes—complimented by sparse furniture here and there, and luckily easy to navigate too.</p>
<p>Sprinting toward the reception area nearby, he knocked on the glass to nab the attention of the woman sitting behind it. “Is Nancy Holbrook here?”</p>
<p>The brunette female, Kathy according to her name tag, offered him a curious expression and then asked, “Are you related to Ms. Holbrook?”</p>
<p>Shaking his head, Quentin observed as the woman scanned through some sort of book whilst he said, “No, I’m her friend.”</p>
<p>“Only family members are permitted to visit Ms. Holbrook right now,” Kathy professionally informed after apparently looking up the information for confirmation—hence the book. “You’ll have to come back later.”</p>
<p>“Please, I really need to see her,” he expressed with the utmost urgency, his hazy blues pleadingly staring into her emerald greens. “I gotta know if she’s okay.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry sir,” she sincerely uttered, her reluctance to bend causing his fists to clench by his sides. “I cannot divulge any information t—”</p>
<p>“<em>Please</em>,” he growlingly emphasised, his palms slamming against the glass barrier in anger. “You don’t understand what’s going on.”</p>
<p>Mild apprehension crossed her features but Kathy nonetheless kept her voice even as she warned, “Sir, if you don’t leave, I’ll be forced to call security.”</p>
<p>“No, please, you can’t just—”</p>
<p>“Kathy?” Head whipping to the side, Quentin discovered an older male, an employee judging by the white coat, standing behind him. Tan skin, smoothed short black hair, rounded glasses and patient eyes created an image of professionalism too which suggested to him that this man was possibly important—or extremely anal about his appearance. “Is there a problem here?” the other male gently inquired.</p>
<p>“This young man wants to see Ms. Holbrook,” Kathy explained, “but he is not a family member.”</p>
<p>“Hmm…” Seeing those steely chestnut orbs studying him with pronounced interest caused him to fidget nervously on the spot. “Are you, by chance, Quentin Smith?” the older male eventually pitched out.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he mumbled in surprise. “How did you—”</p>
<p>“May I see some identification?”</p>
<p>Confused by the request, Quentin blurted out a semi-rude, “Is that necessary?”</p>
<p>“Please,” the white-coated man kindly spoke. “I must insist.”</p>
<p>Suspicion withstanding, he nonetheless fished out his driver’s licence from his wallet and presented it to the other male. “Here.”</p>
<p>Accepting his licence, the man spent a moment examining its details before handing it back to him. “Very good, thank you. Kathy,” he smilingly addressed the receptionist, “please make a record in the visitation log of his visit.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” the woman replied, her hands pulling out yet another book and proceeding to make notes in it.</p>
<p>Next, he witnessed the older male approach a steel door opposite of the reception area and then swiped a key card through the security reader. “This way please,” the white-coated man beckoned to which Quentin answered by wordlessly following the other inside. “My name is Joshua Harbine. I am the doctor currently overseeing the care of Ms. Holbrook,” Harbine clarified whilst the two of them ventured through the empty blue-white halls of the facility. “The only reason I am allowing your visit is because of her mentioning of you.”</p>
<p>“Is she okay?”</p>
<p>“I believe that answer is a little more complicated than a simple yes or no,” the doctor put forth, his words supplying no comfort whatsoever. “You’ll be able to see for yourself though, and perhaps you might be able to get through to her.”</p>
<p>Giving the guy a funny look, Quentin summed up his bemusement in the form of a worried, “I don’t understand.”</p>
<p>“Are you aware of why Ms. Holbrook was admitted here?” Harbine posed next in response.</p>
<p>“Admitted?” he voiced with increasing concern. “I thought she was only here temporarily, for psychiatric evaluation.”</p>
<p>Nodding in affirmation, the doctor then divulged, “And I made the executive decision to admit her when that evaluation concluded.”</p>
<p>“All because her mother went missing?” he incredulously inquired as they passed through another locked door.</p>
<p>“Among other things.”</p>
<p>Afraid of what ‘among other things’ referred to, Quentin hesitantly muttered, “W-What did she tell you?”</p>
<p>“A great deal, most of which was incomprehensible,” Harbine vaguely stated, “but I’m hoping you will get better answers than I did. I must also warn you that your visit will be monitored through the cameras and security will be standing watch just outside the door.” At his acknowledgement, the doctor then added, “Would you be willing to speak with me afterward?”</p>
<p>“About what?”</p>
<p>“Any information you’re willing to provide about her which might aid in her recovery,” Harbine elaborated.</p>
<p>Not bothering to hide his grimace, he uttered a foul sounding, “So you can get her convicted after she gets outta here?”</p>
<p>Gifted with mildly sympathetic eyes, the doctor then went on to say, “Anything relating to the ongoing investigation, including her potential conviction, is out of my jurisdiction. However, I am bound by law to cooperate with the Springwood authorities should I hear anything relevant.” Noticing his obvious revulsion, Harbine emitted a quiet sigh prior to admitting, “If it makes any difference, given her condition, I doubt she will be imprisoned either way.”</p>
<p>Bitter sadness overpowered his other emotions soon after, his voice narrowly maintaining its steadiness as he miserably snarled, “She didn’t do anything wrong, but you wouldn’t believe me anyway.”</p>
<p>“You might be surprised,” the doctor quietly responded, their stride coming to a halt in front of one of the many steel doors in this particular hallway. “Allow him ten minutes inside,” Harbine told the guard, a burly umber-skinned man, standing beside the door, “and then have Mr. Smith here escorted to my office.”</p>
<p>“Only ten?” Quentin disappointedly voiced.</p>
<p>“As a safety precaution,” the doctor conveyed. “If all goes well, I might allow longer visits in the future.”</p>
<p>Better than nothing, he thought, which was then accentuated by an understanding nod. “Thanks.”</p>
<p>Once the door was unlocked, he stepped inside the plain, rectangular space while the security guard shut the door behind him. From there, he found Nancy, dressed in white pajamas, sitting on a bed, one of the only two pieces of furniture in the room, tucked in the right corner of the space. Her back leaned against the white wall whilst her attention remained glued to the sketchbook in her hands. Judging by appearance alone, she seemed completely unharmed, which was a blessed relief, but obviously something was wrong if the doctor admitted her.</p>
<p>“Nancy?”</p>
<p>Upon hearing her name, Nancy glanced up from her work, her stunning green-grey eyes silently boring into him from afar. Moments later, she waved her sketchbook in the air and innocently asked, “Wanna see?”</p>
<p>Unsure of what to do with that, Quentin emitted a confused, “Uhm… Yeah, sure.”</p>
<p>Cautiously joining her on the unmade bed, he accepted the open sketchbook placed into his hands and took a gander. At first glance, it was a penciled picture of her mother facing away from a mirror in the background. When prompted, he flipped to the previous page to find a similar looking image with very subtle changes. Upon further inspection, Quentin realized that every preceding picture in the sketchbook had little tweaks to it and was drawn specifically as a flipbook.</p>
<p>“Go ahead.”</p>
<p>With her expectant encouragement, he grasped all the pages between his thumb and pointer finger and then proceeded to release each page one by one. Pages passing by his sight in a blur, he witnessed a gruesome story unfold: Gwen, looking completely at ease, standing in front of mirror whilst Freddy eventually appeared behind her after she straightened back up; after which, blades busted through the mirror, stabbed her through the skull and then heaved the woman inside the broken mirror with him. The last image displayed the mirror, fully intact and smeared in blood, with a reflection of Nancy screaming in fright farther away.</p>
<p>“Shit. Is-Is that what happened?” Receiving only a dull stare in reply, Quentin scrubbed a hand over his face whilst distraughtly murmuring, “Fuck, I… I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p>“There was so much blood,” she expressed with a weird smile, a slightly disturbing sight in all honesty. “And he was supposed to be dead, bled and burned was old Fred.”</p>
<p>“He will be,” he determinedly spoke against her eerie rhyming, his hands setting the sketchbook down and grabbing for her shoulders. Looking deep within her orbs in order to get his message across, Quentin threw on a comforting expression while asserting, “I’m not gonna stop until I find a way t—”</p>
<p>Abruptly pushed backward, his backside was further smooshed into the mattress when Nancy climbed on top of his body. Hissing from the weight sprawled across his stitches, he endured the pain long enough to hear Nancy declare, “You’ll die.”</p>
<p>She sounded dead serious too, but his conviction stayed firm as he countered, “Not before I’ve stopped him.”</p>
<p>“He’ll come back,” she continued, her voice eventually switching out for a cheery sing-a-long as she poked at his nose. “He’ll <em>always</em> come back to play with us Quen.”</p>
<p>Dismissing the rising weirdness, despite how much it made his stomach churn, he reached forth to cradle her left cheek in his palm. “Not this time,” he argued, his soothingly unwavering resolve hopefully passing to her through his touch. “I’m not gonna screw up like before either. I won’t let him get to you with—”</p>
<p>“He doesn’t want me right now,” Nancy explained, her tone implying something unbeknownst to him.</p>
<p>Fearing the answer, Quentin examined her face for anything useful until his fruitless search urged to ask, “W-What d’you mean by that?”</p>
<p>“One, two, Freddy’s coming for you,” she started to creepily sing, her abnormal changes in demeanor telling him precisely why Harbine had her admitted. “Three, four, better lock your door.”</p>
<p>“Nancy, stop.”</p>
<p>“Five, six, grab your crucifix…” His next plea was cut short when she grabbed at the leather cord around her neck, pulled the necklace free from underneath her clothes and then gingerly transferred it to his neck. Tapping the crucifix trinket on the necklace specifically, Nancy leaned in to whisper in his ear, “You need this now more than I do.”</p>
<p>“Nanc—”</p>
<p>A pair of smooth lips, insistent and warm, interrupted him this time. His hands slowly extended to rest on her back as he automatically surrendered to the pleasurable contact. Their first kiss, if it classified as such, was but a brief peck fueled by fear and death whereas this one was quite different. The consistent moulding of their lips together produced a tingly sensation, something soft but highly enjoyable, and he relished in its breathtaking feel. Sadly, though he wished to continue, he was unable to forget the danger which threatened their lives yet again.</p>
<p>Reluctantly pulling back, Quentin savoured the lingering tingle on his lips whilst he claimed, “I <em>will</em> stop him, I promise.”</p>
<p>Green-grey orbs beginning to shimmer with moisture, Nancy gifted him with a beautiful smile, something not unhinged or disturbing in appearance, before muttering a trusting, “I believe you.”</p>
<p>“You do?”</p>
<p>“Gotta believe in something,” she cheekily parroted, “right?”</p>
<p>“Mr. Smith.” Neck snapping toward the door, he noted the burly guard from earlier pointing at his wristwatch and then informing, “Your time is up.”</p>
<p>“Oh, right, uh…” Much to his disappointment, Nancy climbed off of him and retook her earlier position against the wall; however, instead of just sitting there, she folded her knees to her chest and then curled into a little ball. Unsure of what to do, Quentin patted her arm reassuringly whilst saying, “I’ll, uh, be back soon. Just hang in there, okay.”</p>
<p>“Seven, eight, better stay awake,” she began to chant as he leisurely left the room. “Nine, ten… never sleep again.”</p>
<p>A deep frown blossomed across his face as he peeked over his shoulder to see his crush one last time before the guard closed and locked the door. His bottom lip quivered and tears threatened to spill from his eyes the longer he stood outside thinking of Nancy and how lost she seemed. Their brief moment together was ultimately a bittersweet one because he knew what was at sake and, should he succeed or fail, she might never be the same.</p>
<p>Mindlessly following the guard through the facility, Quentin was suddenly endowed with a feeling of unbridled rage toward the demon responsible for this. His hand clutched at his necklace, still warm from her body heat, and mentally bolstered his resolve for the struggle to come.</p>
<p>He strongly believed there was still hope for Nancy to recover from this ordeal, so long as she had the time to do so in peace. Furthermore, hearing an inkling of normalcy out of her, namely her comment about her belief in him, was proof that the old Nancy was still in there somewhere. Everything in the meantime was up to him now but, when his dreams were inevitably invaded, he was going to be ready to face his worst nightmare.</p>
<p>No matter when or how long it took, one way or another, he vowed to destroy Freddy once and for all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Solidifying Some Plans</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A direct continuation of the third chapter with Quentin Smith beginning to truly establish his resolve.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Her positive response to you was quite impressive,” Harbine smilingly claimed, his hands coming to rest in a folded position on top of his neatly arranged metal desk.</p>
<p>Quentin offered a vague shrug though his mind was currently preoccupied by a multitude of distracting topics such as: how Nancy seemed to be teetering on the edge of insanity; how Freddy was probably salivating at the thought of killing him the next time he slept; how ready he was to put an end to the unexplainable existence of his worst nightmare; and how surprisingly uncomfortable it was for him to sit in this bright office. Despite the spacious and clean appearance of the fourth topic, with framed licences littering the white walls and simplistic furniture filling roughly a third of the space, the square room felt strangely confining. In fact, his discomfort here was reminiscent of what he experienced when having to sit across from his father in his stuffy office at school.</p>
<p>Pushing aside his unrelated musings, he replied to the earlier claim with a despondent, “I guess. It didn’t really feel that way.”</p>
<p>The doctor was quick to provide sympathy through his softening chestnut eyes whilst his general expression remained as professionally even as ever. “Would you be open to the discussion we spoke of earlier?” Harbine expressed after a moment, the sliver of hope in his tone only just audible.</p>
<p>His agreement granted him the opportunity for a reprieve from the awkward silence, but he was apprehensive to divulge any information whatsoever—especially if it ended up incriminating him and Nancy. “Do I have a choice?”</p>
<p>“Of course,” the doctor automatically assured. “You have every right to refuse—”</p>
<p>“But you want answers,” Quentin knowingly voiced, his snappy disapproval much too powerful to suppress.</p>
<p>“I wish to help Ms. Holbrook recover,” Harbine calmly emphasised without appearing threatened or offended in the slightest. “I witnessed definite improvement during your visit and I strongly believe your input, should you choose to provide it, will aid my ability to further build on that improvement.”</p>
<p>Weighing his options, he initially figured that mentioning anything was pointless considering how unbelievable his information was; however, according to the doctor himself, the man might indeed surprise him. Of course without knowing precisely what Nancy had told Harbine was a problem too as his details may not wholly match up with hers. At any rate, the real question was whether or not keeping quiet was going to help or hinder his and Nancy’s situations.</p>
<p>Ultimately electing to fish for information from the doctor first, he tensely asked, “Tell me what she told you first. I-I need t’know.”</p>
<p>“Unfortunately patient confidentiality prevents me from divulging the specifics of my conversations with—”</p>
<p>“Then what input are you after from me, <em>specifically</em>?” he heatedly proposed instead, his impatience already drained before their ‘discussion’ even began. “You can tell me that, right?”</p>
<p>Neutral expression ever so faintly cracking, the doctor nonetheless indulged his second question. “I wish to know more about the events leading up to the disappearance of Ms. Holbrook’s mother. Given your close friendship with Ms. Holbr—”</p>
<p>“<em>Nancy</em>,” Quentin glaringly corrected. “Her name is Nancy.” While he understood that the doctor was merely acting in the realm of professionalism, the least the man could do was speak of Nancy like a person as opposed to just another patient.</p>
<p>“Given your close friendship with Nancy,” Harbine delicately amended, “and the recent deaths and incidents surrounding the two of you—”</p>
<p>“How d’you know about—”</p>
<p>“Featured news and police reports from the incidents themselves,” the doctor informatively answered. “Although, something tells me their information might be… lacking.”</p>
<p>Lacking hardly described it at all, but the choice of wording did manage to coax a lighthearted chuckle out of him. “Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.”</p>
<p>Seeing the discreetly imploring look aimed at him, Quentin reluctantly decided to reveal <em>somewhat</em> of the truth about his and Nancy’s nightmarish experience. He started by explaining that the recent deaths of their friends were the result of murder and not suicides or accidents; additionally, the unidentified murderer responsible happened to be an older male who went by the name of Freddy. Without mentioning specifics about the man, like their shared connection to him or how Freddy now resided solely in their dreams, he simply spoke of how elusive and untraceable the killer was. Hence, with the stress of their unprovable plight bearing down on them, their only solution was to press onward and confront Freddy by their lonesome.</p>
<p>“We thought he was hiding out at the abandoned preschool,” he lyingly recollected with ease, his orbs barely maintaining proper eye contact. “Obviously things didn’t work out like we planned, but…”</p>
<p>Debating on how to proceed, Quentin eventually opted to avoid revealing how they bested Freddy since murdering their murderer, or rather attempting to murder the man, sounded incredibly bad. Likewise, alluding to the fact that Freddy was alive was equally bad because it implied that their killer was still at large. Such a notion, technically speaking, <em>was</em> true though Freddy was not exactly roaming around outside of their dreams and, thus, was unable to be apprehended. On the opposite side of things, claiming that their killer was deceased meant having to pin his death on someone which, whoever was chosen, became liable for murder charges—and then some.</p>
<p>Belatedly he realised that there existed a different option, the only viable one he was capable of brainstorming in fact. The trauma surrounding the loss of their friends was sure to solidify its believability too yet voicing it aloud was likely going to poke holes in the explanation he already gave. He was beginning to regret ever opening his mouth about all this in the first place.</p>
<p>“We didn’t find anyone,” he dejectedly admitted, his hands bunching up the fabric of his pants. “Just an empty building that we accidentally hurt ourselves in. And that’s everything I know.”</p>
<p>“And Freddy?” the doctor curiously inquired without missing a beat. “Did you eventually find him?”</p>
<p>Following through with his mountain of lies and half truths, Quentin shook his head and quietly confessed, “No. Maybe he wasn’t even real at all.”</p>
<p>Needless to say, Harbine was an expert at schooling his facial expressions though Quentin swore he caught the vaguest glimpse of skepticism underneath the pronounced interest the doctor wordless conveyed. Never before had it been so difficult to keep a straight face and resist the urge to fidget, but boy was the other male stretching his limits. How the hell was he supposed to stay composed when the doctor started picking apart his information?</p>
<p>In lieu of throwing a stack of probing questions his way, Harbine gifted him with a slow nod and a grateful, “I appreciate you sharing this with me.”</p>
<p>Stunned by the unexpected response, Quentin made to conceal its obviousness only for a yawn to burst from him first. “Shit, sorry,” he semi-embarrassingly muttered as his forgotten tiredness returned to annoy him. Apparently drug-induced sleep did not equate to <em>actual</em> sleep, a fact which his fatigued body made abundantly known. Alongside his tiredness, he only now noted the setting sun through the windows, a view which prompted him to rise from his seat whilst announcing, “I think I should get going. It’ll be dark soon and, uh… yeah. Uhm, can I keep visiting Nancy?”</p>
<p>“Of course. I will inform my colleagues that I’ve approved your visitation rights,” the doctor stated prior to calling for a security escort. “In the future, simply check in at the reception desk and someone will later escort you further inside the facility. In the meantime, do get some rest Mr. Smith. You look quite peaked.”</p>
<p>Voicing his immediate agreement did not lessen the lingering sting of having to forgo honouring that request; there was no slumber to be had until the demon undoubtably lurking in his dreams was vanquished for good. Expressing his final words of gratitude, Quentin then followed his security escort out of the main facility and finished his venture solo towards his vehicle.</p>
<p>A small smile blossomed across his face as the refreshing evening air cooled his somewhat clammy skin and temporarily warded off his growing exhaustion. The alluring scent carried by the light breeze, a mixture of leafy earth from the trees and miscellaneous food smells wafting in from the neighboring establishments, was pleasing too. Sadly his happiness took an abrupt nosedive when he remembered every negative little thing which had occurred within the past few hours. Either way, regardless of how botched his explanation to Harbine was or how bizarrely Nancy had acted, he needed to retrain his sights on the important task ahead of him: defeating the bastard that was Freddy Krueger before he lapsed into a coma.</p>
<p>Furthermore, in order to accomplish his task effectively, his supplies for fighting off sleep—namely energy drinks and pills—were in desperate need of a restock. Naturally he doubted any pharmacy was going to refill his prescription at this point, but the least he could do was seek out some alternative product. New plan in mind, he quickly veered off towards the nearest pharmacy once he entered within the town limits of Springwood.</p>
<p>Prior to venturing inside the store, he merely idled in the parking lot for a moment whilst he checked his cellphone. Shockingly, he discovered no phone calls or texts from his father which hopefully meant that his absence was still unnoticed. Aside from that, there also appeared to be nothing, voice or text, for him to address whatsoever though some older text messages from his friends did catch his attention.</p>
<p>Spending time perusing through said messages resurfaced their associated memories which then caused his eyes to mist over. Some of the most recent or momentous texts included: Nancy shyly shooting down his latest request to hang out with him; Jesse angrily venting about losing Kris to Dean and later wanting to forget his troubles by stuffing his face at the Springwood Diner; Kris thanking him for remaining neutral and caring about her break-up with Jesse; and Dean sheepishly asking for pointers on homework assignments and projects—the requests upping in frequency when his nightmares truly started.</p>
<p>Although arguably mundane and deletable, such messages along with his crucifix pendant—a birthday present from Kris, Dean and Jesse—were the only things he had left to cherish of his friends. Moreover, both gave him the necessary strength and confidence boost he required to keep moving forward with his desire to permanently destroy Freddy.</p>
<p>Belatedly recollecting the painful struggle yet to continue, Quentin eventually stashed his phone away and headed inside the store. He navigated throughout several aisles before finding plenty of energy drinks, specifically Red Bull, to bundle within his arms. Afterward, courtesy of the signs he failed to read earlier, he found his way over to the over-the-counter medication section of the store. A deep frown quickly tugged at his lips when he spotted numerous rows worth of sleeping aids, their innocent appearance that much more depressing to stomach. As if his predicament was not taxing enough, the universe felt the need to cruelly wave the promise of quality slumber in his face.</p>
<p>Those products were easily dismissed however once he stumbled upon some useful stimulants such as caffeine pills and 5-hour energy. Not much else truly struck his eye, at least nothing terribly effective, and taking too much of this kind of stuff to a checkout counter might look suspicious—at least in one trip. Stockpiling all of his supplies now, while his exhaustion was manageable and his micro-naps were non-existent, seemed a smart goal to follow; however, maybe multiple trips in the future might help keep him busy and, in turn, awake.</p>
<p>Content with the idea of additional trips, he haphazardly flung his purchases in one shopping basket and then beelined it towards the front counters. Apparently only one clerk, an extremely bored looking man with short brunette hair, was minding the tills tonight. Suddenly thankful for the lack of staff about, and other customers too, Quentin strolled up to the tended counter and commenced the unloading of his supplies from the shopping basket. Meanwhile, the clerk snapped out of his trance to ring in the assortment of stimulants placed before him.</p>
<p>“Find everything you were looking for?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” His brows minutely knitted together in confusion as the voice of the man seemed oddly familiar.</p>
<p>Eventually dismissing the familiarity, he witnessed as brown orbs continued to widen after each product passed by the scanner. “Are you trying t’give yourself a heart attack with all this caffeine?”</p>
<p>“Just, uhm, need the extra boost to help me study,” Quentin nervously mentioned while setting the last few bottles of 5-hour Energy on the small conveyor belt. “F-For exams.”</p>
<p>“I see. Shame it’s not gonna help,” the clerk mysteriously pitched out, his voice taking on a much darker tone. “Not while I’m still around.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>Within the blink of an eye, the hand placing his goods in a plastic bag snapped outward to snag him by his right wrist. Hauled closer to the counter, enough to crush his stitches against its solidness, he instantly noticed how the hand grabbing him was now burned and, upon looking upward, the man had transformed into Freddy—still clad in a gaudy green clerk uniform.</p>
<p>Breath frozen in his throat, Quentin helplessly watched as the dream demon leaned in nearer to his face and then sinisterly whispered, “Nothing can keep you from dreaming about me.”</p>
<p>Shouting in absolute terror, he narrowly ducked beneath a bladed swipe aiming to take his head clean off at the neck. Desperation provided him with the motivation to keep clinging to life, the fiery burst of energy allowing him to wrench his snagged wrist free from the iron vice which it was entrapped in; however, his frantic momentum caused him to fall sideways in a rather awkward and agonising position. His stitches, along with other select body parts, greatly protested from his painful landing yet Quentin had little time to dwell on them.</p>
<p>Seeing his nightmare magically redonning his usual attire whilst slowly sauntering around the counter raised his fright to suffocatingly high levels. Luckily not frozen from its crushing presence, his fear instead propelled him forward, his legs blinding maneuvering him throughout the store. Knowing this was a dream and, by extension, knowing that running and hiding was ultimately fruitless amazingly did not hamper his stride.</p>
<p>“Keep going,” he quietly encouraged to himself, “just keep going.”</p>
<p>Sprinting down one particularly long aisle, he worriedly observed as his surroundings started flickering between loaded shelves and horizontally arranged pipes—the phenomenon further proving his unconscious state. The gradually escalating stench of filth and smoke wrinkled his nose, and the shift between bright whites and orangey-reds from the respective environments did not aid his vision any either. Eventually the aisles disappeared entirely and Quentin was forced to navigate through the cluttered warehouse, the one Freddy favoured so fucking much, to survive.</p>
<p>Speaking of the bastard, the dream demon relentlessly pursued him every step of the way. Every glance behind him showed the man somewhere nearby, the creepy grin and gleaming claws scraping along machinery continuing to fuel the sheer terror he felt. Was he going to die here before he even had a chance to fight back?</p>
<p>Quentin was forced to a halt when the man suddenly appeared in front of him, his abrupt stop somehow knocking him back on his ass whilst Freddy menacingly cackled. Gripping his smarting torso, he proceeded to scoot backwards on the grungy floor as the dream demon lazily followed his movement. “Why didn’t you fucking die?” he angrily belted out, his voice surprisingly coming out crystal clear despite the circumstances. “Why couldn’t you have just <em>stayed</em> dead?”</p>
<p>“Death didn’t want me,” Freddy plainly said while flashily scissoring his blades in the smoky air, “but I think it would <em>love</em> t’have you.”</p>
<p>“Go to hell!”</p>
<p>Chuckling at the sentiment, the dream demon paused in his approach to gleefully utter, “Tempting offer, but not before I’ve taken you and my little Nancy with me.”</p>
<p>Abandoning his attempts to flee, Quentin directed a deadly glare at the smirking bastard and then lowly growled, “You stay away from her.”</p>
<p>“Or what?” Freddy amusedly taunted. “You really think you can stop me Quen?”</p>
<p>Not bothering to dignify the killer with an answer, since whatever he said was going to be mocked, he simply took off running again. Cackles echoed throughout the warehouse as he blindly searched for something of use like an exit or some other form of escape from his own dream. Of course if he spent less time sprinting for his life, indulging his inner cowardice, he might distract Freddy long enough to wake up.</p>
<p>Although, the weight of death looming over his shoulders had a nasty habit of swallowing up all rational thought. How the hell was he supposed to survive this? Waking up on his own was highly unlikely and someone else coming to his rescue did not seem too promising either. When Freddy eventually tired of chasing and taunting him, he was going to be totally screwed.</p>
<p>Hanging a left around a huge hunk of rusted machinery, Quentin immediately received a face full of hot steam. Sputtering while shielding his face from greater assault, he recovered just in time to see a handful of claws flying at him. Panicked, he speedily dodged sideways as two metallic tips sailed above his eyes whilst the remaining two nicked his left cheek. What stung the worst though were his stitches as all of his sprinting, dodging and awkward falling—now up to a third time—had evidently caused them to rip open. A hand pressed against his clothed chest soon after confirmed this, the wetness of sticky blood beginning to seep through his shirt.</p>
<p>“Dammit,” he mutedly hissed when the discomfort did nothing save for intensify.</p>
<p>Easing fully onto his back to lessen the stinging ache, his attention was soon diverted to a pair of legs appearing in his peripheral vision. Towering above his downed form, Freddy weirdly regarded him with a foul grimace instead of a cocky smirk. Nonetheless, the sight of the man so close to him, whilst incapacitated too, was enough to kickstart his pathetic tears. He loathed the idea of caving, to grant Freddy the pleasure of killing him now, yet there seemed little else he was capable of doing to prevent it.</p>
<p>“To be continued,” the dream demon ominously said, the remark the last thing to be heard before the loud blaring of a horn startled Quentin from his sleep.</p>
<p>Wide orbs frantically drank in the interior of his vehicle while his heart harshly slammed against his ribcage with incredible force. Calming down enough to think, he started off by wiping away the last droplets of his tears while figuring out what the hell happened. Obviously the blaring horn came from the one installed in his vehicle, his head clearly having drooped enough on top of it to activate its loudness. In addition to that, he eventually surmised that he must have fallen asleep sometime before, or possibly after, he looked at his cellphone.</p>
<p>“Shit.” Ragged breathing gradually returning to normal, he yelped the moment he noticed the sharp sting radiating from his chest. A quick, albeit careful, peek under his shirt revealed that the damage to his stitches was unfortunately real though remarkably minor. “Could’ve been worse,” he mumbled aloud in a weak attempt to stay positive.</p>
<p>Witnessing the lit pharmacy building over yonder, Quentin powered through his injuries and went about actually grabbing his necessities. During which, he reminded himself that what he experienced now, falling asleep sporadically and sometimes without even knowing, was going to happen again and Freddy might not be so lenient next time. To be continued certainly sounded threatening but it also seemed to imply something else, something which was unbeknownst to him.</p>
<p>Elsewise, his poor reactions in the dreamworld were pitiful to think about and definitely not acceptable to be repeated. If he had any hope of surviving this <em>and</em> protecting Nancy, he needed to focus less on the prospect of dying and more so on staying strong. Cowardice had no place in the dreamworld and especially not with a bloodthirsty, undead bastard looking to slaughter him.</p>
<p>One way or another, and even if it resulted in his death, he <em>was</em> going to beat Freddy and send the burned pervert to hell.</p>
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